


Abidance

by orphan_account



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Dadza, Dream face reveal kind of, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda like Maze Runner, Minecraft, Panic Attacks, Realistic, References to Coronavirus, Sapnap and Dream Live Together, Sapnap supremacy, Survival, Temporary Character Death, Three Life System, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, ish, no beta we die like l'manberg, real minecraft, sorta - Freeform, survival situations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:28:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29124936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Something was brushing against his skin, tickling his arm, and it wasn’t his covers. Frowning, he slowly opened his eyes, blinded for a few moments by a blinding light that seemed to be right above him. As soon as his eyes had adjusted he knew something was wrong, because he was under an open stretch of sky. He sat up faster than he should’ve and felt the throbbing of his head increase but couldn’t find it in himself to care, too consumed by the sudden stress that rightfully accompanies these situations.Or: The Dream SMP but they all get transported to a Minecraft world
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Alexis | Quackity & Karl Jacobs & Sapnap, Charlie Dalgleish & Jschlatt, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Connor | ConnorEatsPants & Jschlatt, Floris | Fundy & Niki | Nihachu, Grayson | Purpled & Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Zak Ahmed & Darryl Noveschosch
Comments: 17
Kudos: 286





	1. Dream

The first thing Clay registered was a pounding sensation. A pain in his head throbbing with the beat of his heart. He squeezed his already shut eyes further, almost as if to remind himself not to open them, knowing as a gamer how bad headaches could get. Sudden exposure to light wouldn’t do him any favors and he could feel the sun warming his skin. He could’ve sworn he closed the shades before going to sleep, but it had been almost three in the morning so he wasn’t the most trusting of his memory. He moved an arm to place under his head as his pillow didn’t seem to be cutting it - and that’s when he noticed the second thing. Something was brushing against his skin, tickling his arm, and it wasn’t his covers. Frowning, he slowly opened his eyes, blinded for a few moments by a blinding light that seemed to be right above him. As soon as his eyes had adjusted he knew something was wrong, because he was under an open stretch of sky. He sat up faster than he should’ve and felt the throbbing of his head increase but couldn’t find it in himself to care, too consumed by the sudden stress that rightfully accompanies these situations.

Clay scanned the area around him and determined he was in a small clearing but was otherwise surrounded on all sides by trees. There was something wrong with the trees but he chose to ignore that sensation and instead dive into his memories to try and remember what on earth had happened the night before. 

He’d been on Quackity’s stream and ordered some Chinese. He’d evaluated and described the meal at the guy’s request and then did some lore related stuff on Techno’s stream. He closed the night off with a brief Florida story to shock Karl’s viewers. What’d he done after logging off? It hurt to think but he was sure he’d done little apart from cleaning up the food and heading to sleep. He’d even set his alarm because of the dental appointment he had today, he was sure of it. So what the fuck had happened to get him in the middle of a forest? He ran a hand through his hair and pulled at it in an effort to think. He hadn’t gotten drunk… was there something in his food? Or was this what vivid dreaming felt like? He pinched himself and nothing happened, but did that even actually work? He felt unconvinced. He ran a hand through the grass and felt it tickle his fingers. You weren’t supposed to feel things in dreams right? Or was that a myth? Maybe his sister had thought it was funny to pull a prank…? She had been threatening to get him back for the mac ‘n cheese incident recently. 

A cool breeze hit his face and he was suddenly aware of how actually cold it was. He rubbed at his forearms and was startled to see goosebumps. That was a rare sight in Florida, even during the winter. The coldest it’d gotten recently was in the 60s and that had hardly been felt with the humidity. His head was still pounding. He tried to refocus his thoughts but they were fixated on the cold thing. He cursed at them quietly as he battled to bring the important issue to his minds front. The cold won out. He looked down at his attire, the standard Florida tank top and shorts. He hadn’t bothered to change before bed. He then felt his face - no mask. He started to get a rather uncomfortable feeling. Why would he come here or be put here by anyone he knew, without a mask, in the middle of a pandemic? Why was it so goddamn cold? He continued to run a hand through his hair, absentmindedly starting to pick the grass out. Then he frowned. Why  _ was  _ it so cold? 

Clay pushed himself to his feet and spun around, staring at the wildlife and plants with new interest. This wasn’t Floridian nature, at least nothing he’d seen before. These were… what… oak trees? Not the typical palm trees of Orlando, and while oak trees did grow in Florida these were different. He took into account the air again - it wasn’t humid. The wind was fresh and not constraining. Maybe that was a good thing considering his situation. But it was more troubling to him at the moment, as he thought about what it meant, not being in Florida. He asked himself again what the fuck had happened last night? An idea suddenly popped into his head - maybe he had amnesia? He felt at the back of his head, looking for a bump or blood to indicate a head wound. He came up with nothing. He was unscathed. Another fleeting idea - aliens - passed through his mind but he threw that out completely and instead elected to try and familiarize himself with the area and see if there were any obvious ways out of the forest. Maybe he’d be able to find and follow a creek or hear the sound of cars and locate the road. Nothing. He felt frustrated again. He paid attention to where the sun was and noted that it was mid day. He didn’t want to be here at night. Clay might be a Florida native but he was still unprepared to spend a night in the woods with god knows what kinds of animals. He wasn’t familiar with whatever roamed the night in this environment and wasn’t too inclined to find out. He felt his panic rising and tried to calm it again. He just had to focus on something else. He tried to think logically about what the best course of action would be. Climb a tree? He looked at the oaks around him. He didn’t have much experience with climbing but how difficult could it be?

He sucked in a breath and approached one of the taller looking trees with branches that looked easy enough to reach. Luckily, oaks tended to have rather thick branches that were pretty close to each other and reached all over, in the ground and sky. They were pretty ideal for climbing and Clay felt relatively safe putting his weight on the branches. He’d made it about halfway up the tree when his stomach started to rumble and he stopped to consider that problem. Food. His throat was rather dry as well so that’d also be an issue coming into play. He glanced nervously at the sun. What had those survival videos always said to do first? Locate a source of water. He definitely hadn’t done that. He resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair, instead focusing on continuing to hold the branches because of the wariness that came over him at being so high. Clay made the decision to climb to the top, see the easiest path out of here, set out on it if it looked easy, and if not, try to find a water source and get something set up in this tree to prepare for the night. He started to climb again and was rather absentminded, quickly having gotten used to the activity. He was now multitasking, and trying to sort out what was going on. He thought back again to his last memory. It was a little fuzzy but he’d thought that was because of sleep deprivation. Shit, was he tripping? No, it’d be more bizarro world if that was the case. He forced himself out of those thoughts upon realizing how close he was to the top. He surveyed the branches above him and decided not to climb any further. He was already uncomfortable with how thin the branches were and held on to two separate one’s just in case. He glanced at the tree tops he could see. This definitely wasn’t the highest tree in the forest, but he reckoned he had a good enough view. 

He scanned the area in front of him and felt the panic rising again when he couldn’t see anything resembling civilization. There was nothing but mountain and nature. Though he was nervous in doing so, he turned to face the opposite direction and recognized similar results. A sudden feeling of desolation set in. He was fucked. Not even trying to focus on something besides his despair, he plopped down on a branch and let a shaky hand pull at his hair. 

* * *

It was sometime later, at least an hour, because the sun had moved significantly, that Clay mustered enough resolve to start climbing back down. His hands shook on the way down and he felt uneasy trusting them, so the descent was a much longer process then going up had been. When he finally reached the base of the tree he had to stop and sit again to try and convince his legs not to behave like jello. He tried to calm the racing anxiety in his brain but knew it was futile. He needed to do something calming and repetitive in these situations to make his brain see reason. Usually it was listening to music and building on Minecraft but no such fucking luck. He didn’t even have shoes. He’d been walking along in his socks, and the left one had already gotten caught on the tree bark and was unravelling. He was so fucked. He slammed his head into the tree behind him and groaned when it reinvigorated his headache. He brought a hand up to massage his temple and tried to force his abused brain to think. He’d decided something earlier… a course of action? What was it? Right, water. He had to find water. He took a moment to breath and prepare. In and out… breath in and out. 

Clay pushed himself to his feet and tried to avoid catching his socks on anything as he wandered through the trees. Strangely, the grass was quite consistent, and there weren’t many rocks or any fallen leaves or sticks. He hadn’t ever really been in a forest like this but didn’t imagine that was normal. Taking his mind off of that for the time being, he racked his mind to try and find out how to find a source of water. He really wasn’t prepared for this type of situation. Running water was safer than still water, right? And you wanted a fresh water source, that was obvious. He strained his ears as he walked to the left, trying to keep track of where he’d woken up (he didn’t want to lose it as it may offer clues and seemed a good enough area to build a shelter) but mostly just scanning the horizon for the hint of blue or white. He kept a worried eye on the sky above, watching with consternation as the sun fell lower and lower. His socks were damp from the grass. It’d recently rained apparently, yet he was completely dry. He stopped for a moment to consider his footwear, or rather lack thereof. All he had on him were a generic pair of white ankle socks that were worn even before this situation. Clay looked at the ground, thinking again about the lack of rocks or sticks. He ran a hand through his hair and made a decision. Sighing, he struggled to balance on each foot as he removed his now brown socks. Best save them, not waste them when they were already threadbare and he had a good enough ground situation going on. He’d just have to be careful, not that the socks would block much anyways.

It wasn’t long after he’d started walking again that Clay heard something. He stopped and really focused on the sound. It was just barely audible but he could detect it coming from pretty much straight ahead of him. It was a trickling noise, and he probably would’ve missed it if not for listening as closely as he was. He moved towards it and breathed a sigh of relief when it got louder. He could now hear the faint crashing of water on rocks. Perfect. So long as it wasn’t salt water of course. Or polluted… Jesus who knew what was in water these days? Fertilizer and dog shit and all that stuff they talked about in commercials. He considered again how safe it would be to drink this water. His parched mouth made him think he hadn’t much of a choice. He took a moment to glimpse at his socks which he’d been carrying grasped in one hand. Was it smart to wash them in the same source of water he was drinking from? He frowned again at his predicament. Before he could muse further he found the river. Clay was taken aback for a moment at how sheerly blue the water was. It was bluer than the Atlantic, more radiant too. There was white foam in a few places of course, like when it came down in a mini waterfall over the rocks into a stiller section at which he was currently standing. Surely though, that shade wasn’t natural. There was something wrong with this water. Yet when he looked down, it was translucent enough he could seem swarms of cod making their way through the river. Or, at least, they looked like cod. Really he didn’t know, most of his nature-based knowledge came from video games. Where were cod native to? He had no idea. 

He stared at the water again, noting that he could see sand at the bottom and sides. Was that normal? Hesitantly, Clay found himself crouching down and uneasily placing a hand in the water to test it. He jumped a bit at how cold it was, he thought about how refreshing it’d taste. He could feel the gentle current through his fingers. It was kind of relaxing in the circumstances. He let himself sit, feeling the tickle of grass against his legs and the flow of water through his fingers. He gave himself a moment's peace. For all that he enjoyed the indoors, the pandemic meant he’d been outside even less than usual, and he knew the appeals of the wilderness surprisingly well for his career path. After a moment's peace, he pulled his hand from the water, remembering what he came here to do. He inspected it. No blemishes or pain so the water couldn’t be that toxic. He hesitated for a moment before licking the hand. No salt. It should be fine for drinking then, right? Trying not to think too deeply about it, lest he dissolve into a panic, he maneuvered himself so he could put his lips to the water and drank. 

It was surprisingly normal. Clean. It barely tasted different from his normal Dasani. Maybe even a bit better. He sat up and wiped his mouth on his arm. That was one task down. He turned back around and focused on remembering how to get back to the tree. Step 2: build a shelter. He frowned at the river before setting off again. It was quite irritating how far off it was from where he was planning to make camp. He might have to move closer then he wanted to. 

It was harder to find his way back then it was to find the river. That was in large part because of the fading light. Clay also had to admit, however, that he was having a hard time with remembering landmarks at all. Everything looked so infuriatingly similar. It was rather surprising what ended up leading him back to the oak tree. Shouting. Frantic screaming, actually, to be more accurate. Very British sounding screaming. 


	2. George

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream finds the source of screaming.
> 
> Sidenote: I do not have an editor so prepare for a crap ton of run-on sentences

The first thing that popped into Clay’s mind was admittedly a bit fucked up. Because for all that he could stay calm in situations like these he was kind of falling apart on the inside thinking about the solitude and destituteness of his situation. Maybe spiralling a bit. Probably wasn’t normal to think _thank God_ upon hearing another human’s screams. Probably wasn’t normal to have a smile plastered on his face as he ran towards the source. Probably wasn’t normal for him to burst out laughing at realizing the screamer was one of his best friends. But… well, for George to immediate start screaming bloody murder was just so fitting that Clay couldn’t help laugh. It was so oddly normal. He had to lean against a tree, wheezing, to try and control his breathing for a second. 

“Jesus christ” he said between wheezes, “That’s- that’s so fucking-”

George was staring at him with wide eyes, his back against the same oak tree Clay had climbed just a few hours earlier. Even in the darkness of the evening, Clay could read every emotion as it flitted across George’s face and Jesus it was-. God, “What’re the odds.” he asked, still shaking with laughter, moving a hand across his still smiling face. His cheeks were actually hurting from how strongly he was smiling, “What are the fucking odds” and he let out one last laugh. He pushed himself away from the tree, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. He walked towards George. God, this wasn’t how he imagined they’d first meet but… you had to find the positives in these situations. Another set of hands would be infinitely helpful in making progress towards getting out of this godforsaken forest. Did George know anything about the wilderness? Probably not honestly. He was more of a hermit then Clay was, and he’d grown up in London. He didn’t even have a license. Clay wondered if he’d ever seen an actual forest. He was certainly no Christopher Robin. He started chuckling again thinking about George and that yellow bear, the guy had gone off on a rant just the other day about how much he hated honey. He definitely wouldn’t get along with Poo- ha, poo. 

He reached out towards George, planning to envelop the man in a hug, partially because they were first meeting and partially because he now had a partner to go through all of this with. When George flinched back, however, he stopped. Brows furrowed, he opened his mouth again to ask what was wrong. Thinking about it now, George didn’t seem nearly as happy as he was. Probably because he was in this situation. He probably didn’t have more of a clue then Clay. Really, why… why was George here, now that Clay thought about it. He shouldn’t be in America at all, travel ban and all that. He moved the hand that was frozen in front of George backwards to run through his hair so he could think. He didn’t expect as soon as he did so, for George to fucking sock him right in the face. 

Startled by the punch, which was surprisingly strong, if sloppy, Clay stumbled back and eventually tripped over his own feet to the point where he ended up on his butt. His hands were now around his nose that was- fuck- bleeding. Still shocked by what’d happened, he spluttered for a moment and stared at George in disbelief, who stared back with… fear? “What the- what the fuck, George?” Clay asked, his hand wet with his own blood. Were you supposed to bend your head backwards or forwards? One could make you choke on your own blood. He blinked his eyes a few times; he’d seen stars from how hard that’d been. His attention was once again drawn to George however, who was grasping the tree bark so hard his knuckles were white. He was licking his lips, seeming almost nervous. Clay frowned, a question on the tip of his tongue but his friend spoke first.

“How- how do you know my name?” George asked shakily, his accent stronger than usual. 

Maybe it was because of the punch or maybe because he hadn’t eaten anything all day, but it took Clay way longer than it should’ve to interpret the question. His stupid brain fixated on the accent thing for a long time before the words finally went through his head. His eyebrows furrowed. What the hell was George talking about? He looked at the guy again, noted the panic on his face, how it hadn’t ever really gone away after Clay found him. Why…? Oh. _Oh._ Fuck. God he was so stupid, “It’s me.” he said then cursed at how vague that’d been. George’s stare had gone from fear to annoyance.

“What the hell does that mean?” he snapped, looking shocked at his own words for a second before seeming to harden and get his resolve back again, “Why do you know me. Why am I here?”

“I’m Cl-” Clay Dream paused, “Dream. It’s Dream, George.”

It was the other man's turn to look confused. Dream watched the cogs turn in the guy’s head. He licked his lips again as he considered what Dream had said. Then he stared at Dream, looked at his nose, looked a little guilty, and then, again, his expression hardened, “Say something.” he finally said and Dream groaned, because for fuck’s sake- George had already heard him talk, he’d heard him _wheeze_. But then he looked at George again, noted the guys’ nervousness, the way he was shifting from one foot to the other, and figured why not. The guy probably wasn’t in his right mind to analyze Dream’s moves and tone anyways, “I’m a little pissbaby” he finally said.

George stared at him again for a long time and then buried his face in both hands. Dream saw his shoulders quacking in silent laughter. He grinned, feeling rather proud of himself. George finally managed to pull himself together, “What’s wrong with you?” he asked, the ghost of a smile across his face. 

Dream grinned rather impishly, “Ask Twitter. I’m sure they’ll know.” George continued to shake his head, seemingly in disappointment, but his small smile faded rather quickly.

He looked at Dream again looking rather sheepishly at his friend who was pinching his nose, “Sorry…. about…” he gestured vaguely, “Y’know…”

Dream waved a hand and felt himself smiling despite it, “It’s fine man. I didn’t know you had such a strong punch. ‘Sides I don’t think it’s broken or anything.”

George mumbled something Dream couldn’t be bothered to translate. There was a rather awkward moment of silence and then George sighed, moving away from the tree and sitting across from Dream criss-cross applesauce. Dream snorted at how British the guy was. His nose having stopped bleeding, he adjusted his own bent knees and leaned against a tree, resting his forearms lazily across his knees. George looked away for a second, staring at a spot in the now dark woods to the left. He licked his lips. Clay could tell he had something to say. He busied himself with staring at the canopy until the other boy worked up the nerve to say whatever was on his mind. His own mind continued to fly in all directions as he tried to make sense of both what’d happened earlier in the day and now George’s sudden arrival. He needed time to mull all that he knew over, interrogate George for whatever information he had (unfortunately Dream suspected it wasn’t much), and try to come up with a plan of action. Put the pieces together, “Uh…” he let his eyes lazily shift to refocus on George. The guy was staring at the grass now, his hands finicking with the green blades, “Do you know why…?”

“No.” Clay said, the hope that George would have more information slowly sinking in his chest.

George nodded, head still down, “Remember…?”

“No.”

A lengthy silence.

“How long have you been here?”

“Not long I don’t think.” Clay said, “I don’t really know. Last thing I remember is leaving Karl’s stream and going to bed. I don’t know how much time between that and… this… there was. It was maybe noon? I think, when I woke up here. You were here right after I found a river. So just… maybe eight hours?”

George’s brow furrowed, “What was the date when you went to bed?”

“Uh…” Dream racked his brain, he was horrible at keeping track of dates. But his dentist appointment he knew was on the 25th so… “The twenty-fourth.”

George frowned, “I went to sleep early on… the… twenty-fifth. Yes… so I don’t think there was that much time between then and now.”

Dream frowned, “Last thing you remember is sleeping?” George nodded in affirmation, “That’s weird. D’you know what time?”

George frowned again, “Maybe… 4? PM.”

Dream looked at the man in disbelief, “Why the hell were you sleeping at- nevermind. Okay 4PM British time is… 11 at home.” he stared at the sky, “It’s like… eight-ish here” he rubbed his temple, “So what timezone would we be in? Would have time to be in? How would you get here so fast…?” he grunted in frustration. George looked confused. Dream sighed and put away the dilemma for later. He’d have to muse over it later. For now… “We should probably figure out shelter.” That was something simple. They could work with that. They definitely should, because it was so much colder than Florida here, and Dream was still in a tank-top. George might be good with his Supreme hoodie but if it rained they’d both get hypothermia or pneumonia or something. Probably. His thoughts flicked back to the current worldwide pandemic, “You haven’t been out much recently, right?”

George looked a little insulted, “If you’re trying to say I’m a hermit-”

Dream waved his hand again and shook his head, “No, no… I’m thinking about… y’know…”

George obviously didn’t know, looking confused.

“Corona.” Dream said finally, and George made an “o” face and nodded.

“No” George said, “Haven’t gone out much. Probably not exposed. I’m not feeling sick either… You?”

“Well there’s asymptomatic…” Dream mused for a moment before answering, “No. I’m pretty isolated. Apart from Sapnap obviously.” 

He thought about his roommate for the first time in a while and felt vaguely worried. Had he been hurt when Dream had somehow gotten transported home to here? He knew the guy could be combative and was the sort of person to grab a kitchen knife and threaten a burglar rather than just go along with things. He was an idiot. And even if he hadn’t been affected he’d certainly be worried. He was a bit of a mother hen. Honestly Dream was surprised George hadn’t received a call from the guy. He pursed his lips in thought, “Sapnap didn’t call you, did he?”

George frowned, “Uh… he might’ve. I don’t really know.”

Dream looked at his friend again and kind of spluttered in confusion, “What?”

“I slept until 2.” George said sheepishly

Dream didn’t question his friend, knowing his sleeping patterns were far from ideal, but he still shook his head in disbelief. George looked a bit defensive at that but before he could voice his excuse a _motherfucking arrow flew through the air_. It whizzed past George’s face narrowly by just a few inches. He started screaming again. Clay scanned the darkness for a few seconds, muttering “What the fuck” and not being able to identify the source of the deadly shaft he just moved towards George lowly on his hands and knees. “Get down” he hissed and pulled on George’s pant leg, his friend having jumped up when the arrow was released. He was shaking and staring wide eyed into the darkness. Dream pulled more aggressively this time. George still wasn’t moving, “George I swear to God if you don’t get down and keep standing still like that you are going to get a fucking arrow through your skull.” that seemed to get to the man’s brain and he finally dropped. Rather dramatically too, he sprawled out as flat as he could on his stomach in an X shape. Dream’s eyebrow quirked upwards but he didn’t comment. There were more important things at hand. Warily he looked back towards the forest and waited for their enemy to make himself known. He waited a few more seconds before calling out into the darkness, “Hello-” another arrow whizzed past he and George, landing somewhere between them, dug into the dirt. He startled but maintained his composure, “Buddy I hate to break it to you but your aim is shit.”

“Dream!” George hissed from besides him, “What’s wrong with you!”

Dream ignored his friend for the time being, “What do you want with us? Are you the reason we’re here?” no response. After waiting a moment, Dream considered the arrow that was dug into the ground beside him and reached for it. Remembering the crappy lessons from boy scout camp, he made an L around the shaft and yanked it from the dirt. It came out easily enough. He inspected it. It was sharp. Could do some real damage. He swallowed deeply thinking about what’d happen if it had embedded itself in him or George. He shook his head of those thoughts. He needed to focus on the situation at hand. Panicking wasn’t going to help anything. He held the arrow by its shaft and was careful not to ruffle its feathers. He stared back at the darkness and waited for another noise from their enemy. He spared a glance at George, who had moved his head from buried in the ground to nervously scanning the horizon. He looked back at itself, “Listen-” another goddamn arrow flew through the air, missing substantially this time and hitting some tree behind them. Dream let out a breath of frustration, “Could you stop interrupting my goddamn sentences with arrows?” no response. At this point he wasn’t really surprised. A sudden groan came from his left. He actually jumped a bit at that and swivelled his attention to that. It sounded familiar. Was it weird that a groan was familiar to Dream? Especially one that sounded as… demented as that one?

He could hear quiet, sloppy footsteps padding through the grass. He held the arrow tighter and moved into a position more ready to fight, though still low enough the shooter would have a hard time hitting him. George made a guttural sort of scared noise behind him and he drew his gaze from the left for a second to see what he was looking at. He gawked at seeing it. Because- that was- that was impossible. There was no fucking way- it was a goddamn skeleton. Slowly making its way towards George and himself, a bow and arrow in hand and eyes empty and dead. This was way too much like some of the dreams he’d had. He pinched himself again. Nothing. Fuck. Something kicked him to his left and he startled and looked up. Fuck, fuck, fuck. A distinct rotten smell filled his senses and he felt like gagging. It was hard to do much other than hold back his own puke for a second, his eyes actually watering from the smell. Despite his blurred vision, he could still make out the telltale green flesh and forwardly stretched arms of a zombie. It had the standard apparel too- blue jeans and a neon blue shirt, tattered and ripped but still standard. There was no way. But he hardly had time to think about how or why, instead having to focus on the immediate situation. The thing was reaching down to bite him. Hell no. He glanced back at the skeleton. It was a while away still and focused on George. Regretfully, he’d have to leave his friend on his own while he dealt with this. He should be fine. He quickly moved out of the zombie’s way and got to his feet, hoping the skeleton’s attention wasn’t drawn to him. He looked at the zombie warily, gagging again when he saw the eyeball actually gooey and dripping from its eye socket- he weighed the arrow in his hand nervously. Arrow through the eye into the brain should do it right? He thought about the risks of getting bitten. He swallowed and glanced back at George and the skeleton. There wasn’t time to go about it any other way. So with a rush of adrenaline, he pushed himself forward at the enemy and in one swooping motion pushed the arrow into the things eye socket. It didn’t go deep enough. The thing was still moving and towards him, just with an arrow in his head. Dream stepped backwards. He did not have the strength for this. Puncturing a skull was actually quite difficult. Now without a weapon he considered his options again. The zombie continued to meander towards him. Dream wanted to curse it for being so passive. He unconsciously ran a hand through his hair. Think. Think. A sort of clacking sound brought him back and he saw with dismay that the skeleton was closer than before. George was squatting now and Dream left the zombie alone for a minute to pull his friend up by the shirt. 

He glanced at the oak tree and made a decision. He pushed his friend towards it, “George climb” his friend stared at him like he was crazy.

“It’ll be able to shoot us-” Dream shook his head.

“Not if we get high enough up. The branches are good. Stable. Just gotta go fast.”

George stared at the tree and bit his lip before cautiously lifting his leg up to try and get a foothold at the base of it. He hugged the trunk. Dream glanced behind them. Both mobs were closing in. They didn’t have all day. He gave George a rough shove, trying to get across that they needed to _move_. His friend let out a squeak that he’d normally make fun of, “Dream-”

“Climb” he hissed. The skeleton was close enough to shoot now. It was still honed in on George. He was vulnerable right now. Dream stared at the creature’s dead eyes for a moment before moving in to punch it. Punching bone was a weird sensation. He felt the dead things ribs crack under his fist. Apparently it wasn’t fulfilling its calcium needs very well. He glanced back at George. He’d made some progress but still wasn’t climbing fast enough. He looked back at the skeleton. It was trained on him now and there was an arrow just inches from his head, pointed at him. Quickly he dodged down, not a moment too soon as it was released and flew forward hard enough to embed itself in a tree. Dream glanced back at George. Fuck it. He started climbing. Another arrow flew up and he keened so sharply to the right he almost toppled out of the tree. Luckily catching himself, he was level with George in minutes. George stopped at that but Dream shook his head, “We need to keep going.” Wordlessly his friend nodded and kept climbing with concentration. He was still slower than Dream and he stopped to show his friend where to put his hands and feet. He was definitely not a Christopher Robin. He acted like he hadn’t climbed a tree in his life. They made steadier progress but the slowing down nearly cost them dearly when an arrow skimmed Dream’s cheek. He hissed and fought the urge to press a hand to it. He felt wetness trickling down and didn’t need slippery hands when climbing. How much blood had he lost today? Too much in comparison to how much water he’d drunk surely. Not to mention not eating. George was probably better off then he was in that regard.

Finally, Dream recognized that the branches were starting to thin. He looked down apprehensively. The skeleton was still shooting upwards but the arrows didn’t seem to be reaching them. The zombie had either left or was hidden under the tree’s leaves. It wouldn’t be safe to go down. He adjusted himself so he was no longer standing on his branch but sitting. George saw that he’d stopped and sat a branch lower. Dream continued to look down for a time. The skeleton wasn’t leaving. Sighing, he surveyed the sky, trying to figure out what time it was through the moon’s position. He didn’t have much luck. Below him George slapped at his foot, “Your feet stink” he said, not leaving them alone. Dream scowled at him but realized the other man couldn’t see in the dark.

“Sorry I don’t sleep with shoes on” he said pushing his foot down to rest in George’s hair. 

“Stop!” George said irritably, batting his foot away and leaning towards the trunk.

“You should have a little more respect for the guy who saved your ass” Dream grumbled not quite playfully but not serious either. George made a sound like he was going to retort but ultimately chose not to, and the two sat in a moment of silence. In the quiet, Dream was able to identify more sounds than he had during he and George’s conversation. There were the groans of zombies, some close some far, clacking skeletons… something like an explosion even sounded in the distance. _Creeper?_ His mouth felt dry again with that word. Things had been manageable before the mobs. He’d felt like he’d be able to put the pieces together given enough time. He’d even been happy at seeing George. But this blew things out of the water, and not in a good way. All logic was blown to hell. Because zombies weren’t real. Skeletons didn’t get up and walk around and shoot things. Thinking back now, water shouldn’t be that blue. Grass shouldn’t be that soft. He thought about the lack of bugs and the sand on the sides of the river. About how similar everything looked. He thought about how the cod had moved. His mouth was still dry. The blood on his face had caked by now. 

He dug his fingers into the bark of the tree. He felt for imperfections. There were dents in the wood, lines, but… looking closer he could tell there were patterns to it. Dream felt vaguely sick. He dug deeper into the wood. Partially to ground himself, partially to stop the shaking of his hands, and partially to try and find anything that didn’t seem… simulated. He leaned his forehead against the trunk of the tree, feeling the coolness against his forehead. It was a cold night. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus. _Calm down_. There was reason in this, he just had to find it. There was an explanation somewhere.

* * *

George licked his lips and squeezed his eyes after looking down. Something like bile came up his throat and he swallowed it back down. He let out a shaky breath. Okay. Don’t look down. Everything’s fine. Don’t look down. Don’t think about it. A tight breath in. A short one out. Breathe. Nothing you can do about it right now just… distract yourself. He thought about what he’d last eaten. Goldfish. A Monster. His stomach rumbled to remind himself of how little that was. God. 

He ran a shaky hand down his face. So much had happened. He’d woken up… here. He’d thought he was about to be killed by a psychopath who turned out to be his best friend. He’d punch said best friend. He’d seen his face for the first time. Then… then the monsters he’d only seen in video games had made an appearance and almost… almost _killed_ him. Ended him. His existence poof- gone. Nobody would even know what's happened… except Dream. He held down another wave of nausea and exhaled another shaky breath. This was a dream. Had to be. No other explanation. This wasn’t reality because this was literally impossible. It didn’t make sense. This wasn’t real. Not real. Inhale. Exhale. He considered the branches behind him, the unreal yet scarily familiar noises below him. There was no way. If he closed his eyes maybe… he’d wake up. He’d wake up at home and laugh and tell Dream and Sapnap about it over Discord and let them make fun of him (or in Sapnap’s case complain about not being in them). He let himself lean back on the branches behind him and stared up at the slivers of night sky above. He stared at Dream’s bare feet, lazily swinging as he leaned against the trunk. He swallowed. He closed his eyes and let the darkness envelop him.

* * *

George was snoring. He was legitimately snoring. Dream was shocked at what that man could sleep through. It was truly a talent. Truly. He sighed and wished his mind would afford him the same ability. No luck. There was too much to make sense of, too many pieces to fit into a puzzle, too little known of the situation, for his brain to let him sleep. 

He thought about the arrow in that zombie’s eye. How he’d wasted it. There were arrows in the trees. He wondered if he had the strength to pull them out. He gripped the too-perfect bark of the tree under his fingers again, maybe to test his own strength. They were scratched and pink at this point. His face felt dirty from the blood caked on it. Warm too. He was thirsty. He was  _ hungry _ . He was tired. He listened to George’s snoring and shook his head again. Even if he could sleep he probably shouldn’t. Somebody should keep watch. And to be honest he kind of wanted to know… know what’d happen at sunrise. Because if things were as they seemed they’d be safe in the morning, right? They’d burn. Or become docile. His mind lingered on the sounds of explosion he’d heard in the distance.

Dream let out a sigh and tiredly ran a hand over his face. Today was probably the 25th. It was probably the early hours of the 26th by now. How many days were in March? Thirty or thirty-one? They should probably keep track of time somehow. He wondered if George knew how to make a sundial. He let his eyes rest on the sleeping figure below him. A gust of wind blew through the trees and he found himself envious of his friend’s sweater. Florida men were not made for this weather. 

Dream let his thoughts wander again. He could spend hours in his brain when fixated on something. And he was fixated. Normally he’d be able to work these things out in one sitting but whenever it was an existential crisis related thing he could spiral. His breakups were all the more hellish for those reasons. The cheating scandal too. He thought back on his memories of last (last?) night again and thought deeply. The Chinese had tasted fine. The streams were normal. Nothing had been out of the ordinary. All there was was that dentist appointment he never got to make. God that was so much money down the drain… he really needed better insurance. It was high time he got it, he’d just been procrastinating. Rent was due soon. He hoped Sapnap remembered. The guy wasn’t the best with that sort of thing, but at least it was him and not George. George was  _ awful _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be a longer chapter, as I was originally planning to write a chapter with all the events between each new members' arrival, each chapter starting off with a new arrival, but I got to writing and realized how bad an idea that'd be. This chapter was something like 7,000 words when I decided to split it in two, and I hadn't finished. So to give you all more frequent updates and not ridiculously long chapters, I split this.


	3. Dream II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some rather unfortunate events unfold.

Sunrise came both agonizingly slowly and all too fast. Dream’s gaze barely left the sun as it rose in the east. He was waiting with bated breath to see if the skeleton and zombie still below them would combust into a ball of flame. If they didn’t they were pretty much fucked. Luckily, as soon as the sun was in the position to shine through the canopy of the trees, hitting Dream’s face with its rays first, the familiar sounds of burning mobs rang through his ears. He looked down, and sure enough, both zombie and skeleton were burning. Unfortunately, a side effect of this was the smell. The smell of burning flesh, presumably from the zombie drifted upwards and made Dream feel ill. Not a great way to start the day. Very morbid too. Charred bone and melted flesh at the base of the tree made him feel things he never had from video games. He had to close his eyes for a moment to compose himself before making his way down from his branch. His back twinged as he moved downward and he winced at the pain. They really had to figure out better sleeping arrangements because that was definitely not sustainable. He was quite worried about falling out of the tree for a long while and was really concerned about George who had just sprawled out across the branches below him like he had no cares in the world. Every creak and crack gave him a heart attack. 

Dream expected the other man in question to wake up after having to pretty much step on him to get down, but his friend was resolutely snoring away. He found himself raising an eyebrow at the whole thing and thought about whether he should wake him or not. Deciding it’d be too unsafe not too, he tried to be as gentle as possible and reached down to shake George awake by leg. Still nothing. He was starting to see how the man managed to sleep through wars on the server despite Karl and him spam calling the man to wake him. He lightly kicked the brunette this time. Finally he actually moved, his face no longer peaceful. Still though, he managed to stay awake. Pursing his lips Dream quietly shook his head to himself and bent down so he was close to George’s ears. He took a deep breath, and then, “George!”

The man startled awake so violently that Dream had to grab him by the shirt to keep him from diving off the tree. It took George a moment to recognize him and he flailed in Dream’s grip for almost a minute before he seemed to catch on to the situation and his wide-eyes slowly dimmed. He physically deflated and Dream quirked an eyebrow, “I didn’t realize how much you didn’t like me” he said chuckling a bit, maybe with a touch of nervousness. 

George completely disregarded him and looked around with a different type of urgency, an almost anguished expression emerging on his face. It hurt to look at, and Dream tried to draw his friend out of it, “You good, George?” 

The man spoke back this time, but didn’t cease with the mournful expression or looking around, “It’s real? That wasn’t a dream?”

“It’s not” Dream said cautiously, worried still about spooking again, hand still holding George’s shirt in nervousness, “Sorry.”

His friend looked even more crestfallen then before if that was possible, “But- I-...”

Carefully unwinding his hand from George’s shirt, Dream moved it onto his friends’ shoulder in a form of comfort. He wasn’t entirely sure what to say. His instincts were to make a dumb joke but he had the sense that wouldn’t go over well. So he stayed awkwardly silent. George’s shoulder remained tense underneath his hand, and he was staring at a spot on the forest floor now. Eventually out of a sense of awkwardness, Dream removed his hand and patted his friends shoulder, cringing internally at his less than ideal way of dealing with emotional crises. He cleared his throat after a while of the stillness, not sure what to do with it. His mind was all too aware of the things they had to do today and he couldn’t help the feeling gnawing at him to leave George to have his crisis while he got the actually important things done. He itched to move but kept himself rooted to his spot standing on the tiny part of the branch George wasn’t occupying and balancing with his hands on the branch above them. He became increasingly aware of how much his back twinged, how dirty his cheek felt, and how dry his throat was. So finally he cleared his throat; but before he could say whatever the hell his tongue came up with in the moment, George abruptly dropped. Just allowed himself to slide through the hole between two branches and fall out of Dream’s sight before he’d so much as moved a hand to grasp at empty air, “What the hell?” he found himself shouting. And then he was tumbling through branches himself because he’d let go of the one above him to grab at George and he was falling. He felt the sharp sting of branches against his skin and felt dizzy from the way he was spinning. He landed hard on an especially fat branch luckily only a few levels beneath where he’d been, but he landed on his stomach and felt something in his ribs crack. And fuck it hurt to breathe because he’d just had the goddamn wind knocked out of him- and George- oh fuck, George- he pushed himself up with weak arms, disregarding his own labored breathing and hurting midsection because if his best friend had fallen from that height he could be  _ dead- _ “George!” he called out, his voice strained. He coughed on his own words, never having recovered enough air. He leaned against the tree and let himself slide back down and hacked up his ribs for a moment, squeezing his eyes to block out the pain. But then just as quickly they were back open and he tried again, “George!”

He scanned the ground below him frantically for a tuft of brown hair or even a patch of blood “George?” he wiped at his mouth. His mind was racing and his head hurt from all that he’d been processing for hours on end. It needed rest. He’d had the beginnings of a headache waking up, and it was most certainly here now. It might progress into a migraine if he wasn’t gentle. He ran a hand through his hair in stress. He was thirsty, and still struggling to get his breath back. What the fuck was George thinking? Did he have a goddamn death wish? “George!” he called again. Still silence. 

Dream tugged at his hair. Fuck he was stupid. Why did he think it was a good idea to wake up somebody in a tree by shouting in his ear. Waking up to this type of situation would be awful in its own right, especially when George seemed to think it was a dream? He couldn’t blame the guy. He’d been pinching himself for hours trying to wake up in the beginning. Even on the tree it’d been hard to ground himself and realize this situation was real. Especially when nothing made sense. He thought he’d be able to make something of it when George had shown up with the possibility of more information. He’d laughed in joy at that, because things had seemed hopeless before that. He’d known what solitude did to a person, he wasn’t prepared for the climate, and there was no way out of the woods in sight. But George made all of that better, as his friend always did. George and Sapnap and several of his online friends had that effect on him. He knew they were there for him, even when he didn’t want to talk about whatever was bothering him. Their presence in a discord call, even if it was silent, was enough to calm him down. But then- then there’d been a fucking skeleton. Then a zombie. And Dream had been reminded of the blue of the water and the not rightness of the trees- and everything suddenly seemed too perfect and he realized exactly what this seemed like. His mind still hadn’t fully grasped that, even with the residue of the smell of burning flesh hanging in the air. He couldn’t quite accept that. There was something too scary too illogical about that for him to grab onto. So he settled for calling out to his friend again, “George!”

Having somewhat regained his breathing capacities, Dream resolved to continue moving down the tree. He realized as he went how the fall had not only irritated his ribs, but also further bothered his back, making his movements stiff as he climbed. He continued calling out for his friend. The lack of response and silence of the world without George’s chatter or snoring made his ears hear static. A part of that was probably also panic, but Dream pushed that down. He would be calm goddamnit. He would keep his head. That’s all there was in these situations. 

He climbed all the way to the bottom of the tree without seeing anything of George. He continued to shout his friends’ name as he climbed down the oak, but he still got no response. Finally reaching the bottom, there was still no sign of him. Feeling utterly confused and highly stressed, Dream bit his tongue to suppress a frustrated shout. He was wary of what could be wandering in these woods now. It made him nervous just being on the forest floor rather than the trees, even if said trees were dangerous for their own reasons. He pulled at his hair again and walked around the tree, scanning the floor now. Perhaps his friend had managed to land on his feet? That surely would’ve broken his legs but logic obviously didn’t apply in this world, so Dream was squinting as he stared, looking for any indents in the grass or earth. It was almost taunting him as it fluttered all too perfectly and predictably in the wind in an almost mechanized way. He had the urge to flip it off. 

He scanned the tree again, looking for a body he might’ve missed coming down. Still nothing. What the hell. He didn’t like this. He did not like being alone. He didn’t like the overwhelming anxiety as he worried about George. This time he let himself give a frustrated scream as he kicked the oak tree hard enough to bruise his toes. He was tired, hungry, thirsty, cold, hurting, and worried. He resolved to climb the tree again. He must’ve missed something.

Almost numbly he lifted himself over and through the branches. His hands were red and sweaty by the time he reached the branches George had been laying on. There’d been nothing of his friend and he was starting to genuinely wonder if his mind had been playing tricks on him. Had George been here at all? Surely he must’ve… maybe there was something in that river water after all. That’d explain all the absurdities he’d seen. His throat itched and Dream wondered again how safe that water was to drink. He hadn’t even boiled it. He let his gaze wander to the sky, perhaps to look for some kind of an explanation in the heavens. Surprisingly, one was provided, and Dream flinched back from it so hard he almost fell yet again. Luckily he caught himself, but what he’d seen stayed seared in his mind:  _ Georgenotfound hit the ground too hard _ .

There was no denying it now. This wasn’t the real world. This was… this was fucking Minecraft. And George- Dream closed his eyes and forced himself to count to ten. And George. Breathing. Right. That was a thing he needed to do. Or did he? Fuck. His hands were shaking. And George. He thought about what would happen if he slipped. If he allowed himself to fall through the branches like George. No. No. No he wasn’t doing that. He wasn’t thinking like that. Count to ten.  _ One, two, three, four, five… don’t forget to breathe goddamnit. Inhale, six, seven, exhale.... _ A trembling hand ran through his hair. It was starting to get greasy. He’d always had a problem with that. He squeezed his eyes again. Suddenly feeling all the emotions of the past few days well up inside of him, he smashed his fist against the trunk of the tree. Pain blossomed across his knuckles but it grounded him and he found himself doing it again. And again. The skin was starting to break and there was a high chance of infection in this sort of environment but Dream couldn’t find it in himself to care. There was something raw and true about just letting his emotions out. With all the confusion he’d been dealing with it was almost a necessity to just let himself go like this. He just needed to get it out so he could focus. Logic. Thinking. Calm. He needed to be calm. 

But suddenly he wasn’t hitting anything? His fist met air and he lurched forward from the strength of a punch that never landed, and he had to steady himself on the branch. He felt his eyes narrow as he focused on the log or… where the log should be? Because it was gone. He stared at the empty space in the tree, at gravity defying itself because the rest of the tree was still holding up despite there not being anything but air between it and the ground. What the fuck. He stared at his hands, messy and bloody and starting to sting. Then he stared back at the empty space, and it clicked. Because the cut was so clean and the tree was still standing - fucking _ Minecraft _ . Minecraft physics had probably just saved him from getting pulverized by a falling half of the tree. But he still didn’t care because this was just one more thing to add to a long list of world altering experiences. He didn’t want to deal with this right now. He made his way down the tree and decided to go to the river. It’d been strangely comforting before. He needed that.

* * *

Clay probably shouldn’t have let down his guard as much as he did, but he was exhausted at being on his feet and using quick thinking for almost a day. He hadn’t slept. George was- well. And Clay was lacking several basic needs, most notably food. He’d parched his dry throat with the water of the river (which he still wasn’t sure about), but his stomach was really getting unhappy. He didn’t eat consistently on a normal basis, so was able to stand it, but knew that if he didn’t get some food in him he’d get dangerously weak to the point of probably not being able to get himself food. Bread would be ideal. Or meat he guessed. But he wasn’t sure how able he would be at hunting down a wild cow or pig. Would it still be considered a pig if it was wild? Or would it be a boar? He really didn’t know how that worked. 

Lying by the river bank, he cataloged his injuries. The skin on his knuckles was in ribbons, his nose was still sore from George’s punch, and his cheek was still coated in dried blood from the skeleton’s arrow. He’d worried a good deal the night before about how clean said arrow was, and whether it was poisoned. He’d pretty much ruled out by now if it’d been poisoned (not), but infection was still a very real concern, for his knuckles too. He didn’t have anything to bandage anything with, as his shirt and shorts were necessary if feeble protection from the weather. He considered his socks for a brief moment but figured they were too dirty and would more likely cause infection than protect from it. So Clay settled for washing the wounds out in the lazy flow of the water and resolving to keep them as far away from any action as possible. It’d have to do.

He couldn’t find the motivation to leave his spot on the bank, and watched the afternoon fade away. He tried to calm his thoughts. Make sense of things. He’d had a battle plan before and tried to reconfigure it to suit the new situation. He thought about George. What had made him basically suicide jump. He wondered if he’d woken up in the real world or if… He figured it had to be hardcore. Because George would have been at the bottom of that tree by the time Dream got there if it wasn’t. He was alone again. And that hurt. 

* * *

Clay didn’t know if he was incredibly lucky or unlucky when he found the group of chickens on the way back to spawn. Four of them. He didn’t have a weapon. He knew he was hungry, and that he logically needed to eat but he’d never killed an animal more significant than a bug. Sure he ate meat, but staring down the animal you were planning to eat, watching it as it moved about with an actual consciousness (but was it sentient? Was anything here truly living?) was a whole different matter. He didn’t know if he had the guts to do it. He also didn’t know how he was supposed to do it. In reality he knew you had to… twist the chickens’ neck if you didn’t have a weapon, but just thinking about that made him sick. There was the possibility that he could just hit it several times and it’d die. Like it was... in game. That seemed less cruel. But he’d still have to hit an animal. Hard too, he imagined. He stared at the group of avians. Lucky or unlucky, his stomach reminded him he had to make a choice. 

One of the creatures spotted him and started clucking and moving away. The rest of the group followed it and Clay couldn’t find it in himself to follow. Surely he’d find another food source.

* * *

Apples occurred to him as he sat under the oak tree that defied gravity. He hadn’t thought about them sheerly because of how rare they were, but at the moment he knew they were probably his best bet if he didn’t have the guts to kill a chicken. They could be found in oak leaves, and this was an oak forest so he was in luck. 

He spent most of the day in trees around spawn, sifting through branches and hoping for a glimpse of shiny red nourishment. It was draining but mind-numbing work, and during the search Clay’s mind was a mixture of self-deprecation thoughts mostly about the chickens. George also surfaced. His face right before the fall - passive and calm for the first time since he’d arrived, stuck in his mind. It was unsettling. He tried unsuccessfully to convince himself that George had probably woken up at home unscathed.  _ If you really believed that, why won’t you do the same thing? _ And while such thoughts made apple collecting anything but enjoyable, Clay was efficient, and by the time evening came he’d managed to find four. It may not seem like an incredibly impressive number, but considering how likely drops were, Clay thought he’d done a fine job. 

While searching, he’d stumbled upon groups of sheeps and pigs, and had found himself watching them, entranced as he had been with the chickens. He realized a few minutes into observing them that he was looking for indications that they weren’t sentient, mechanized or repeating movements. That was probably a little bit fucked up and he wondered about himself and George and their motions. Was Clay the only sentient being in this place? Had George really been George? He hadn’t been ready to think about those things and tried to avoid looking at animals after that. 

Mobs were another thing. He’d seen spiders nearly as often as he had sheep, pigs, or chickens. Each time he’d felt his heart fly to his throat and his breathing had sped up, but the things all seemed rather passive. They were just moseying about as the animals were. None had seen him, but with how calm they seemed Clay would be surprised if they batted an eye at him (still he stayed safe and purposefully evaded their vision).

As dusk settled over the forest, Clay made his way back to spawn and climbed the tree that defied gravity and settled where George had been the previous night. It felt a bit morbid, but he tried to keep his mind off of that and the sounds of active mobs, by focusing on the sweet juiciness of the two apples he ate (saving the other two for later). After convincing himself to put down the third apple, he hesitantly laid against the tree, not letting himself look down at the monsters below. He closed his tired eyes and settled into an uneasy sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a lot longer and include Sapnap's introduction but procrastination got in the way and this is just the unpublished second half of Chapter 2 because I wanted to give you guys something.


End file.
